


Shorts

by Cresstionmark



Category: Discord Murder Party (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Other, Still basically what happened in canon, written before canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cresstionmark/pseuds/Cresstionmark
Summary: A collection of Junior related shorts written before his canon reveal.Mostly character introspection.





	1. Rapture

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be slowly adding the things I was working on to this work! I had a lot of stuff that I started but never finished, so this is where I'll house it as I go.
> 
> Also keep in mind that I knew nothing of how Christine would react to Junior, so things may not match up in places!

There she was.

He saw the woman whose eyes he'd memorized more quickly and more fervently than any text he'd ever read. He saw the woman who he'd thought about every moment, hoping and praying that at least she would make it. That she'd be different. He saw her right there before him, flesh and all. She was present. She was tangible. She was alive and she was breathing and she was fine and she was here--

...Why was she here?

Why was she _here?_

A stiff cold ran down Junior’s face, extinguishing any flames of hope that had burned within him. She wasn’t supposed to be here. _He_ was supposed be here. Things like him belonged here. Not her.

Christine’s face contorted, every inch of pain visible. The mask of Junior's initial elation fell away. He could finally see it. Every moment, every second she’d been here. Every blood stained pillow she’d had to clean up. Every gun shot she had ever heard--it was all his fault.

This wasn’t a second chance. This was a second coming.

He'd heard about it before in passing-- despite never having been to church himself, doomsday prophecies tended to get around. Heaven would meet Earth and rain down it's divine judgement on those who'd committed the worst of sins, burning them forever in the flames of their own folly. The wrath of the Divine would be a terror to behold--

And in that moment, Christine was God.


	2. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two souls meet in a bar where time stands still
> 
> A third keeps watch yknow...just in case.

The man on the right was youthful and strong. Worn jeans, long dreads. His hands politely folded on each other. The lamb.

The woman on the left a simple housewife. A long blue skirt, her hair in soft curls. A scowl on her face. A knife in her lap. The wolf.

He readjusts. She pulls the knife.

The woman trains her eyes on him, unwavering. His flicker back and forth, feeling her raw power, unable to concentrate on her eyes but drawn to them all the same.

Anyone else who looked at her would see nothing but fury, but he could see so much more. He saw pain. He saw sadness; grief. A mother longing for her husband, her children, her life. He saw someone overtaken by hurt.

He didn’t know what it was like. He’d never had anything to lose. Nothing was given to him to ever be able to fathom the idea of such a loss. He never had anything.

And he took everything from her.

The woman’s eyes remain trained on him. She knows that face.She wouldn't fall for it. She wouldn't be ensnared by his doe eyes, his soft demeanor. She knew what he was. How evil; to look at her now so pitifully. She knew he wore a mask. Even after tearing the first one from his face, he still wore another, this more sickening than the last. 

She’s seen it every night in her sleep. In her nightmares she saw it on a man with a gun shooting the only ones she cared about. And in her dreams she saw herself bashing that face in, far past what it would take to end him, and she would do it over, and over and over--

And then there was the man standing in the middle. He fiddled with his belt, a little more than accidentally letting his gun flash from under his aviator jacket.

He didn't know what to make of the two people in front of him. The man on his right could probably wreck this entire bar if he wanted to. He seemed big enough, strong enough, and from what the gunman knew, malicious enough. The question was did he know that? His sheepish demeanor and shifty eyes said otherwise. 

The woman on this man’s left, however, knew full well what she could do, and everything she could imagine her little self doing. She was small, for sure, and the man could feel his protective nature rising in his heart. He could also see, however, the raw, carnal instinct in her twitching hand. He flashed his gun again. That always seemed to keep her in check. He just wondered for how long...

“So how’s it going in here, Vinny-”

Gun drawn knife up head down.

The Murder God smiled.

“Seems like there's a little tension.”


	3. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior muses on what it would be like to have a family of his own

“Have you ever thought of having a family?”

 

 _Had_ he thought about it? He'd thought of waking up every morning, rolling over to see the one he loved still wrapped in the covers, sleeping safely and soundly next to him. He would fondly watch them breathe, the simple movement of their body being such a blessing to him. He would kiss their cheek softly, and they would stir ever so slightly from his touch. Or they would snore. He would probably marry someone who snored.

He would get up from his shared bed and walk to his shared bathroom with his shared mirror and sink. He would pick his toothbrush up from their cup, careful not to grab the wrong one, and brush his teeth. He'd be sure to wipe up any lingering toothpaste for when it would be used again later. He would shave (would he shave? He’d let his hair grow out by then, sure) and while he was washing his face he would hear a shriek of laughter from the other room, and he would put the towel down and roll his eyes and smile because of course. Of course they got up early.

He would walk out of his room, careful to close the door, and see both of his children (Biological? Adopted? He didn’t care. They were his) playing a pretend game of cops and robbers, just a little too early in the morning for him to join in. He would put his fingers to his lips, and gesture towards the master bedroom where his sleeping spouse lay, then give a little shush noise. The children would mime it back to him in understood giggles, and he would lead the group to the kitchen.

Making breakfast in the family kitchen would be considered a pastime. The children would expect him to be there in the morning, prepping food for school, for lunch, for dinner. They would do it all together as often as possible, and today was no different. The oldest would crack the eggs, trying to pick out any stray shells before dad would notice, and the youngest would mix and mix and mix, obviously because they were very, very strong and would never ask for help from anyone ever, especially not from their sibling. They would give him the mix and he would tell them to watch their hands near the stove before asking them if they wanted blueberries or chocolate chips today. Of course, they would say chocolate chips, and then he would chortle “Dessert? For breakfast?” while putting handfuls of blueberries in the mix.

He would then tell the kids to go wash up, and they would begrudgingly oblige, only speeding up when he reassured them whoever came back with clean teeth first would get an extra pancake. As they would race away, he’d roll his eyes and smile again. They would definitely be his kids.  
  
He’d muse to himself for a minute in their kitchen, over their stove, over the drawings magnetized to the fridge and the pictures hanging around him of the people he loved. He would breathe in, the smell of cooking food and unconditional love would envelope him, and in that moment he would be sure he had everything.

Then, before his own thoughts would take him away, he would hear a light knocking at the kitchen area's opening, and there he would see his newly awakened spouse, leaning to the side and smirking. They'd walk over to him and comment on him slaving over the stove as usual, before returning the favor from earlier with a kiss. They would joke, they would flirt, they would understand that there was no difference. They wouldn't get on long before they would hear the patter of feet and the frantic scooting of chairs as the kids tried to claim who was victor.

His partner would watch knowingly as he would give the kids an equal amount of pancakes, as he pointed out the clear technicalities that would lead to a tie and of course it was only fair to split the pot, and then they would join the table after helping serve. After reminding everyone of the magic word (Thank you) they would dig in.

They would talk. They would laugh. They would enjoy each other's presence. And he would admire every second of it. This was his life. This was his family. This was his home.

"Junior? Have you?"

"I've thought about it a little."


End file.
